Fear of Flying
by Shelbey
Summary: Denmark's protection and adoration was a universal constant in Norway's reality, just as much as in his dreams.


It was a strange sensation, falling.

Simple, even.

He allowed himself to go limp, since flailing is stupid and won't help him anyway. He can see the sky above him but it looks no different, no matter how far away it is, no matter how fast he's falling. The sky is the same all around him, clouds perhaps, maybe even stars. The darkness could envelope him, the light could comfort him, but it doesn't matter.

Because no matter what, he's going to die.

The wind whipped at his blonde hair, the hat precariously perched on the back of his head being tugged away little by little as the air grew stronger around him, as he fell faster. The clip in his hair pressed against his temple, and he closed his eyes for a moment. Reliving memories from a long time ago, days and months and years since past.

He recalls his friends more than anything, though, and while he never truly told them, not in so many words, they were so very important to him.

The tall, blond Sweden, with his piercing blue eyes and spectacles, the way he treated everyone with kindness and respect. How he would wield his weapon only if he had to. The way he watched Sealand sleep in his arms, tired out from the day.

Small, compact Finland, deceptive with his sweet face and silly demeanor, though carrying the heart of a warrior that no one could conquer. He was strong, stronger than most of them, but he cared so deeply that it was touching.

His brother came to mind next. Silvery hair, Mr. Puffin attached to his shoulder with his silly pink bow tie. Lazy, stupid, wonderful, perfect Iceland that he would never trade for the world, that of all the countries he knew was secretly so grateful to have him to call his brother.

And then there was Denmark. Denmark with his idiotic demeanor and ridiculous hair, over the top trench coat and the odd little hat he always had perched on his blonde head. The way his eyes shone when they all gathered in his house, one problematic, dysfunctional but surprisingly happy family that he brought together. How completely oblivious he was to the way people treated him, how little he cared about anything other than what truly mattered.

How far he'd go to keep them all safe.

Norway opened his eyes and caught sight of a falling speck in the distance, gaining speed, heading for him. He wanted to avert his eyes, unsure of what it was, but he could not look away, not even for a moment, and his heart beat heavily in his chest, reverberating in his skull. It sent all sensations away from his body, blocked out even the happy memories he wanted to relive. Discovering Iceland was his brother, the adoption of Sealand into their little family, the day he joined their family.

He squeezed his eyes shut, holding back tears, trying to keep himself under control. But what difference would it make? No one would see him here. No one would care or wonder or be surprised. It felt like magic the way the droplets floated above him, like crystalline orbs escaping from him with every single feeling he ever had.

A voice sounded.

Norway opened his eyes.

A hand was reaching for him, gloved in black, connected to the sleeve of a trench coat with a red cuff, leading up towards a broad shoulder and finally to a handsome visage. An unsure furrow of the eyebrows gracing his face, a down turned mouth, heavy blue eyes that spoke volumes to him. Had he really known him that long? Long enough for words to be rendered unnecessary? Their hats danced off their heads as Denmark reached around him, one hand behind his head, one hand around his back. Norway's hair clip slipped from his blonde locks and bounced from the man's cheek, careening off into nothingness.

Denmark mouthed something that he could not hear. He said it again, louder.

_Don't look down._

Norway didn't. He wouldn't have been able to tear his eyes away anyway. With all his strength, he leaned forward and kissed Denmark with all of the innocence of youth and all of the passion of adulthood, with every word that he could not speak, and every word that he has spoken since the beginning of time. They stared at each other for a moment, and Denmark pulled him in close. Norway wrapped his arms around the man suddenly feeling completely at peace with the world.

They closed their eyes.

_Norway jerked awake, feeling a cold sheen of sweat beading at his brow and a shiver racing down his spine as he sat up suddenly. He put his head in his hands, the blankets pooling at his waist as he brought his knees to his chest. The temperature in the house was not bothering him in the slightest, but he couldn't stop the shaking that was wracking his body. His muscles were tense, his breathing was labored and he couldn't stop feeling so terrified._

_He was cold and scared, alone and anxious. His heart was pounding hard in his chest and he put his hands to his head, closing his eyes and willing the pain to just float away. All of these years of war and heartache and fighting and just feeling so much were starting to get to him, he thought to himself, leaning back down against the pillows and placing his hands over his eyes._

_A warm arm reached out from under the covers and wrapped around his waist, pulling him close to another body that shared his bed. A kiss brushed lightly against his shoulder as a spiky blond head peeked out sleepily, watching him carefully with one bleary eye shut, the blue iris gleaming in the moonlight. Norway kissed Denmark's forehead gently and curled up next to him, the terror of the dream fading peacefully away into nothingness._

_Before falling back asleep, Denmark pressed their lips together softly and nestled his head in the crook of Norway's neck. He whispered something and Norway breathed out steadily, his heart fluttering instead of pounding. He couldn't help but reach his arm around and pet his hair back, the sentimentality and the flood of emotion overwhelming him. It was one of the things that Denmark's presence never failed to instill in him, no matter how many arguments, how many separations and reunions._

_There was the faith. _

_The overwhelming sense of security and actuality in his surroundings, in his emotions and in his head. That nothing he thought, or said, or did, or felt could be construed as foolish to Denmark, that the unconditional affection they held for each other was forever unwavering._

_And every single time he said, _I love you_ Norway knew it to be true._

_His protection and adoration was a universal constant in his reality, just as much as in his dreams._


End file.
